The night Virelion burned, Kael stood at its heart—between a king, a brother, and a gate that should never have been opened.
But this was not just a battle.
It was a reckoning.
The Rescue
The plan had no room for error.
Iris whispered the spell that cloaked them in shadow. Nira slipped between light and steel like a viper. Ash carried nothing but his bare fists and a bag of explosives made from stolen alchemy salts.
Kael walked straight into the lion's den.
The bridge had been cleared, but the cage still burned with ethereal chains. Rael was unconscious now—held aloft by a magic not of this world.
The False King watched from the throne he had forged from the bones of his own council. "Did you come to kneel?"
"No," Kael said. "I came to break everything you built."
Then the shadows exploded.
Ash tackled a Warden from behind and hurled him off the bridge. Nira struck from the rafters above, blades flying. Iris cast a mirror-blind spell, and the world blurred into chaos.
Kael leapt into the fray, sword igniting with cursed flame.
The Seer shrieked from the temple steps, "You cannot stop the prophecy! The gate is already bleeding open!"
Kael reached the cage, hands burning as he touched the chains.
And he heard it again.
"Open me."
"You were made to open me."
He roared, summoning the mark on his back, flooding the iron with raw power. The chains hissed, cracked, then shattered in a scream of light.
Rael collapsed into his arms, eyes flickering open.
"You came," Rael rasped.
"I always come for family."
Fire in the Streets
With Rael freed, the trap was sprung.
From the rooftops, cultists hurled fire into the sky. Runes blazed across the towers. Statues came to life—hulking war-golems carved from dead kings and forgotten gods.
Iris screamed from across the plaza, "They're opening the Ashen Gate!"
The sky cracked open like a wound. From it came a flood of ash, fire, and something older than time.
Kael raised his blade, and for the first time, it sang.
Not just steel.
A voice—deep, ancient, his blood awakened.
The Seer pointed at him, eyes wide. "He is not a man! He is the vessel!"
But Kael turned, blade burning, and cut the Seer down in a single strike.
"No," he whispered. "I'm no one's vessel."
The Choice
With the Seer dead, the sky stilled. The gate—still pulsing above the city—wavered. Half-open.
Waiting.
The False King fled into the palace, leaving his crown behind—its edges still glowing.
Kael stared at it.
He could take it.
End the line. Claim the throne.
But he didn't.
Instead, he turned away.
"I'm not here to rule," he said. "I'm here to cleanse."